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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25980022">Mother of the Damned</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/falafelfiction/pseuds/falafelfiction'>falafelfiction</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Dark (TV 2017)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Bisexual Female Character, Canon Lesbian Character, F/F, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Time Travel</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 11:14:50</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>8,258</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25980022</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/falafelfiction/pseuds/falafelfiction</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Two years after joining Erit Lux, Martha travels to the 1920s Winden of Jonas's world. There she meets Agnes who is working as a barmaid in the local tavern. Martha offers to show the other girl a glimpse of her future.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Agnes Nielsen/Doris Tiedemann, Jonas Kahnwald/Martha Nielsen, Martha Nielson/Agnes Nielson</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>27</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. The Proposal</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>So after finishing 'Wanderers in the Darkness', I was thinking about the POVs that I hadn't been able to include in that series. Alt Martha and Agnes were top of my list of characters I still wanted to write for. And then my brain started crafting this story that could revolve around the two of them together. I have rough plans for a second part to this, but I guess I'll see how the first installment goes down. Let me know if you think I should take this further into die Zukunft!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>20. June, 1929</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Martha drinks alone at the corner table of the Winden tavern, dressed in tweed trousers, a cotton blouse and a newsboy cap set at a jaunty angle atop her thick dark hair. Before all this happened, she had dreamed of making it as a stage actress, perhaps joining a touring theater company that would allow her to journey far from her hometown and see Europe.</p><p>Now this is her life. A new costume and character for every era.</p><p>Martha traveled to the woods earlier that afternoon, already prepared and rehearsed for her mission in 1929. Since venturing onto the main street, her attire has raised eyebrows and stirred up mutterings among the locals. Women wearing trousers was all the rage in the cities, yet it was still looked on with disapproval in this little backwater town. But since coming to the tavern, Martha hasn’t courted too much attention. There’s another woman in the barroom that every man in the place can’t keep their eyes off.</p><p>Agnes Tauber wears a red dress, cut low at the neckline, and short and ruffled at the skirts. Martha would say that red is her color, but Agnes is a girl so bold and beautiful she could make any color her own. The men who cluster around her as she pours their ale and rinses their mugs seem to think Agnes is dolled up this way as an open invitation for their leering eyes and wandering hands. But the savvy girl is careful to avoid their stares and to stay out of their grasp. Martha has been waiting for these men to let Agnes alone, move aside and return to their poker game. Then she’ll see if she has better luck.</p><p>Martha looks down at her legs tucked under the table, where her closed fist rests upon her knee. She opens her hand and stares at the St Christopher she’s been warming in her palm since she arrived. If she looks close enough she can still see the dark red stains in the silver grooves of its pendant. The blood of her Jonas mixed in with the blood of his Martha. She carries both of them with her, always. Their naive innocent selves who died so young. The first casualties of this war across worlds that’s only just beginning.</p><p>Martha knows she can’t afford to think about Jonas now. She’s on a recruitment mission here and she must not fail. All their lives depend on it. So she pockets the necklace and looks back to the bar to find the crowd of men have dispersed, leaving a clear view across the room. And Agnes Tauber is now staring at Martha with a spark in her eyes.</p><p>She takes this as her cue, rising to her feet and taking a stool opposite the barmaid in red. She sets down her empty tumbler, asking Agnes to pour her another shot. There’s no prohibition in Germany. Since the war, other countries are saying the Hun are all beasts that like to drink their troubles away. And Martha for one will drink to that.</p><p>“Excuse my staring,” says Agnes, taking a moment before reaching for the brandy bottle. “It’s just that…my mother had a scar like that, across one cheek. At least, that’s what I’m told. I never knew her. She died giving birth to me.”</p><p>“I promise I’m not your mother,” says Martha.</p><p>She says this as lightly as she can, though she is aware of the irony of her flippant remark, given that she has come here for the purpose of brokering a marriage between Agnes and her son, which will make this girl her future daughter in law.</p><p>“No, of course not,” says Agnes. “And I meant no offence. My papa always said that the scar never marred my mother’s good looks. Neither does yours.”</p><p>Agnes lets her finger’s brush against Martha’s as she returns her glass. Martha holds her stare, downing the shot in a single gulp. The liquor warms her belly and fires up her nerve. Martha wants to enjoy this night if she can. They get into small talk that soon turns into Agnes gushing about her big dreams. How she’s saving up every penny of the money she earns in this tavern so she can travel to Berlin and get a job singing at a cabaret club. And why stop there? She’d like to keep moving and see the world. Being a child of wartime and poverty has taught her she needs to chase her dreams while she can. Agnes is the same age as Martha is right now, just eighteen. Two young girls who you would think had their whole lives ahead of them and so many decisions still to make.</p><p>After spilling her aspirations on the bar counter before them, Agnes sighs and pours Martha another brandy, saying this one is on the house. Martha senses that this is her moment. She catches Agnes by the wrist before she can turn away.</p><p>“I want to show you something,” she says. “At the caves.”</p><p>Agnes’s eyes fizz with possibilities. “Give me one minute.”</p><p>She crosses the room and whispers to Erna who’s serving up the last of the stew to her poker players. The landlady gives Agnes a little wave, seemingly granting her permission to finish early for the night. Martha is already swallowing her third shot and heading out the door to wait. When Agnes emerges a few minutes later, she has let her hair down from its knot and is shaking it out over her shoulders. They share a nod before heading for the first dirt track off the main road. From there they slip into the woods.</p><p>“I always loved the forest at night,” says Agnes, breathing in the scent of pine and wild flowers. “But Erna doesn’t like me walking in the woods after dark unless I have a friend with me. People vanish in these woods, never to be seen again.”</p><p>“People like who?” Martha prompts.</p><p>“My father…my brother…” She sighs again. “The two of them went missing in the same week, eight summers past. At first, I didn’t worry much. Papa and Hanno often disappeared for days at a time when I was little, leaving Erna to take care of me. Usually they were off on some mission for Sic…for the church. Only this time they didn’t come home. So we started combing the woods, looking for signs. It wasn’t long before we found a swarm of flies hovering over a dead man covered with leaves.” She shudders at the memory. “My papa’s body with six stab wounds in his chest from my brother’s pickaxe.”</p><p>Martha swallows, knowing from the notebook that Agnes is speaking of the murder of her friend Bartosz. Well no, not <em>her</em> Bartosz, but another boy who must’ve looked much the same in this world. She says nothing, just lets Agnes air her old grief. At some point on their walk, they have reached out and taken each other’s hands.</p><p>“I know it must have been Hanno that killed him,” Agnes says, her fingers pinching a little harder around Martha’s palm. “There was always bad blood between him and Papa. I never really knew why. I suppose that my brother has been on the run ever since that day. He got too much of a head start for anyone here in Winden to catch him. If he knows what’s good for him then he’ll never show his face around here again.”</p><p>Martha finds it hard to grasp. The Bartosz and Noah in her own world are so close, both loyal followers of Erit Lux. They’d had no trouble recruiting their Agnes either. The Tabour family trust each other implicitly and were all devoted to Eva’s cause.</p><p>“You don’t think anyone else might’ve killed him?” she asks.</p><p>Agnes shakes her head, then frowns a moment. “There was a stranger in town that week. Another lost stray who Erna let stay in our rooms free of charge. He was a boy around my brother’s age. A blonde boy in strange dark clothes. He was in a bad way when they brought him in – pale and sweating, limping on one leg and bleeding from the neck like someone had tried to lynch him. Fellas in the bar said that he was an escaped POW from the internment camps. He wasn’t right in the head, I could see that much, even at ten. But that boy could barely even stand. So I can’t figure him being my Papa’s killer.”</p><p>Now it’s Martha’s turn to shiver. Suddenly she feels like there’s a ghost walking behind her through the trees. The ghost of that same pale blonde boy who’ll follow her through these woods some ninety years on from this night. She tries to banish him from her thoughts, but as they approach the cave mouth, it’s like she can sense his watery blue stare watching her from the shadows. She blinks away a stray tear, as they step inside the first chamber of the cavern. That’s when Agnes comes to a sharp halt and turns to face her.</p><p>“They were building something in here,” she says, staring at the stone walls surrounding them. “My papa and brother. I used to sneak out and spy on them when I was little. They’d come here with digging tools and work from dawn till dusk, like they were trying to burrow their way to China. I never did find out what they were working on.” She purses her lips and raises one shoulder in a shrug. “So much for ancient history.”</p><p>With these words, Agnes cups Martha’s cheeks and kisses her on the mouth. Martha isn’t expecting the kiss to come so suddenly, but then again, she’d worn the trousers and bobbed her hair hoping to attract just this sort of attention from Agnes. Her roaring twenties lesbian look as she’d thought of it. Or in her case, bisexual. Martha is quick to respond, her hands slipping around the soft curves of the other girl’s hips, before she reaches up to tangle her fingers in Agnes’s hair, pulling her closer, kissing her deeper. In this small God-fearing town, it’s remarkable to find a girl so brazen in her desires. They need a girl like Agnes on their side. As Claudia would say, the future belongs to the bold.</p><p>Martha’s lips are hungry as she buries her face in Agnes’s neck, sucking and tonguing at the tender flesh of her throat as the two girls slowly sink to the ground. For Martha’s part, this is the first time that she has been with anyone this way since Jonas. She and Bartosz came close one time, but her heart hadn’t been in it and Eva had forbidden it. Then Bartosz had been sent back to 1890 to marry Silja and fulfill his role in the family tree. Now it’s Martha’s mission to ensure that Agnes, his daughter, plays her part too.</p><p>But there’s still time for this. Martha had always been attracted to the Agnes from her world. Though at the time they met, Agnes had been older while Martha had been heavily pregnant, deeply depressed and unwilling to believe she could ever make love to anyone again. So she didn’t think she would ever get to act on this quiet crush, even though she was far too young to be alone for the rest of her life. Is she still allowed to want?</p><p>Agnes unbuttons her shirt first and then her flies. And yes, Martha wants this. But she still can’t banish the thought that what they are doing here is wrong. And not because they are two girls. But because this particular girl is her friend’s daughter and her son’s future wife. And if all goes to plan, Agnes will be the great grandmother of the other Martha in this world. The Martha whose blood is staining the pendent she carries, long before she has even been born. But she tries not to think about these things as Agnes’s hands reach into her blouse to squeeze her breasts and her lips move south to her open trousers. She worries about Agnes seeing the stretch marks on her stomach. If she notices them, she says nothing. So Martha just lets this happen. She tells herself to focus on Agnes, keep her mind blank and not even think the words...</p><p><em>...you and I are a perfect match, never believe anything else</em>...</p><p>When it’s over, the two girls lie twined together, tugging their loose clothes back into place, as the chill air of the caves raises shivers on their skin. Agnes’s laughter echoes off the cave walls, while Martha struggles to laugh along with her.</p><p>“So before we got carried away…” Agnes purrs. “…what did you want to show me?”</p><p>Martha props herself up on her elbows. “I wanted to show you your future.”</p><p>Agnes just laughs again, thinking that she’s joking. That’s when Martha reaches for her bag and takes out the golden orb. Agnes’s smile fades as she stares at the device, tilting her head like a curious magpie who has seen something shiny it wants for its nest.</p><p>“Do you trust me?” Martha whispers in the other girl’s ear.</p><p>Agnes raises her head, holds her stare and nods.</p><p> </p><p>~*~</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>24. December, 1990</em>
</p><p> </p><p>They travel from a hot summer’s night to a forest in winter.</p><p>Martha holds Agnes’s hand again as she leads her out to the little cottage on the outskirts of Winden. The chimney stack is smoking, its grey clouds curling up towards a sky freckled with a thousand white stars. The lightest sprinkling of snow falls on their faces as Agnes walks in a daze, not quite realizing what has happened to her yet.</p><p>They come to a halt by the bushes, just close enough to see in through the window without being seen themselves. Martha can hear Münchener Freiheit’s ‘Keeping the Dream Alive’ playing within the walls of the house. This had been her parents’ favorite Christmas song. She used to think it was so cheesy. Now it makes her want to cry.</p><p>
  <em>I hear myself recalling things you said to me, the night it all started.</em><br/>
<em>And still the rain is falling. Makes me feel the way I felt when we parted.</em>
</p><p>Agnes’s eyes are wide and brimming with tears too. Martha follows her gaze, settling her stare on the two women who are waltzing on the other side of the frosted glass. One half of this couple is Agnes herself, twenty-two years older than she is tonight and still every bit as stunning. She’s wearing a red dress this evening too while Doris is in green, matching outfits in festive colors. Agnes twirls her girlfriend around until they are both standing beneath the mistletoe. She presses a tiny kiss to the tip of her nose. And the song plays on.</p><p>
  <em>No need to hide, no need to run, 'cause all the answers come one by one.</em><br/>
<em>The game will never be over, because we're keeping the dream alive…</em>
</p><p>“What is this?” Agnes asks with wonder in her voice.</p><p>Martha squeezes her hand. “Your first Christmas with Doris. The first of many.”</p><p>“She…she’s beautiful.” Agnes can’t tear her eyes away. The corners of her mouth are twitching in a giddy smile. “How is this possible? Where are we? <em>When</em> are we?”</p><p>Martha smirks. Agnes is catching on quicker than most.</p><p>“We’re in the last week of 1990. The Lesbian and Gay Federation of Germany was founded this year, the largest LGBT rights organisation in the country.” She nods through the window. “That is why you’ll choose to settle down here. These times aren’t perfect for women like you, but you won’t have to hide your feelings any longer.”</p><p>Agnes bites her lip, still staring at the two smitten dancers.</p><p>“Look at us. We look like we could be married.”</p><p>Martha nods and chooses not to say that same sex marriage still won’t be legal in Germany until 2017. Looking at Agnes and Doris she imagines that they will still do it. Two proud queer women in their mid-sixties, standing together at the altar, every bit as in love as they are this night. And married or not, they will have thirty years together before the apocalypse. They will know when it’s coming. They’ll leave town early to get away from the blast zone. And Eva doesn’t know what becomes of them after that.</p><p>But thirty years is more than a lot of people get to be in love.</p><p>Some people only get days.</p><p>“That’s enough for now,” says Martha, turning away.</p><p>She catches Agnes by the wrist, tugging her back towards the woods. They’ll need to return to the shadows of the caves before they can use the sphere to travel again.</p><p>“How do I meet her?” Agnes asks as they walk. “That girl, Doris, when will we…?”</p><p>Martha takes a breath and begins listing all the promises that Eva told her to pass on. How she will buy this cottage for Agnes and Doris, a quiet cozy hideaway on the edge of town. A place for them to come home to in the winter. She warns Agnes that she and Doris will need to take new names and identities and keep a distance from the rest of Winden. But they will be given money to travel, to see the world, to live life to its fullest.</p><p>“You haven’t said what you want from me in return,” Agnes points out.</p><p>Martha winces. “We’ll explain everything when the time comes.”</p><p>“We?” Agnes shakes her head, her expression suddenly souring. “If you know so much about me, then you should already realize that I am not my brother.” She tugs Martha to a halt and stares her down. “I’m not interested in joining any cult.”</p><p>“You’re already a part of us!” Martha snaps, as Agnes lets go of her hand, recoiling several paces. “But we’re nothing like your brother’s group. We’re the opposite of everything Sic Mundus stands for. We are the light, they are the shadow.”</p><p>Martha finds that she’s trembling. Agnes just arches a brow.</p><p>“But you’re still not denying that you’re a cult?”</p><p>Martha swallows down her bitterness and frustration. Her hand dips into her bag once more. She pulls out a wadded envelope and holds it out to Agnes.</p><p>“There’s a letter here from the woman who leads us. It will answer some of your questions but not all of them. There are certain secrets we can’t risk you passing onto our enemies.”</p><p>Agnes reaches out and takes the letter, weighing it in her palm.</p><p>“This feels like a long read,” she mutters.</p><p>Martha shakes her head. “There’s 3000 Reichsmarks in there too. Enough for a train fare to Berlin and to rent a room while you establish yourself on the nightclub circuit.”</p><p>Agnes’s eyes widen and she opens the envelope to count the money. Martha smiles faintly. Eva has already told her Agnes will become a dazzling cabaret singer in her early twenties, a regular Sally Bowles. Martha had always wanted to play that role in the musical. She used to dress up in her father’s waistcoat and practice her songs in the mirror.</p><p>
  <em>Bye bye mein lieber herr. Farewell mein lieber herr.</em><br/>
<em>It was a fine affair, but now it’s over...</em>
</p><p>Sudden and unwelcome as always, Jonas’s face surfaces in her memory. His blonde hair and blue eyes that could have been put on recruitment posters for the Hitler youth. Martha wills herself not to think of him. She has to remember whose side she’s on. Eva had slashed that knife across her face as a reminder of where her loyalties should always lie.</p><p>“Enjoy it while it lasts,” says Martha, nodding to the money in Agnes’s hands. “Make the most of it while you’re young. In ten years time, you are going to need our help. A second world war is coming. Another war that Germany will lose.”</p><p>Agnes’s face falls and she rolls her eyes. “Not again...”</p><p>Martha nods, solemnly. She tells Agnes of the circumstances that will bring it about, of the future death toll in its millions. She tells her of the allied bombs that will drop on Winden and destroy Erma’s tavern. She promises Agnes that her group can offer her refuge through the war. Keep her safe from the six years of suffering it will inflict. It isn’t long now before the new Führer begins his dictatorship. She’ll see the writing on the wall.</p><p>“And what would you have me do for the next ten years?”</p><p>Martha sighs. “For now, just…don’t get married.”</p><p>Agnes folds her arms. “Funny. That’s what Sic Mundus told me too.”</p><p>“Really?” Martha frowns. “What do you know about them?”</p><p>She shrugs. “When I was a child and I was curious, I was told I was too young to be a part of their group. Then after my father was murdered and my brother disappeared, I decided I wanted nothing to do with them. But they're still always around. Erna let them stay in her rooms because their leader always sends her money to keep the tavern afloat when times are hard. <em>Adam</em>, that’s what my brother called him. I've heard his name often enough, though I've never seen him. Just a woman named Fran and a man named Magnus, who sometimes come to drink together in our bar, sitting in a corner by themselves, talking long into the night.” She gives Martha a sharp look. “Are they travelers too?”</p><p>Martha tenses, hearing these names. In her world, her brother Magnus and his girlfriend Franziska are dead. So were her mother and Mikkel, her whole family wiped out in the nuclear winds of the apocalypse. But in this world Magnus is still alive and working with her enemy. With a version of Jonas who she never met and never murdered. Eva swears that she wouldn’t recognize the monster that he’s become. She has told Martha she’ll see him one day, many long years from now. That he’ll be the last thing she sees.</p><p>“Sic Mundus are travelers at war with time,” Martha explains. “Erit Lux are time’s defenders. Like the song says, this game will never be over. We’re keeping the dream alive. We’re the light.”</p><p>“So why won’t you tell me what you want from me?”</p><p>Martha’s throat constricts. She knows she can’t say it. This is why Eva put it in a letter and asked her to show Agnes the happy ending that awaits her with Doris. And that is better than anything Martha herself has been offered. In the last two years, Martha has been ordered to break her own heart by pulling the trigger on the first boy she ever loved. She’s had to leave her family to die and her town to be destroyed. She’s given birth at seventeen to a son who she wasn’t even allowed to name. And she’s never been shown so much as a glimpse of happiness in her own future.</p><p><em>‘You’re a mother now,’</em> Eva had told her.<em>‘You must think of your children rather than your own selfish desires. Think not only of your own son, but of every son and daughter that follows him. They’ll depend on you to save them.’</em></p><p>Martha remembers how her own mother used to tease her for going on hunger strikes. How she had insisted that Martha wasn’t helping the starving children of the world by skipping breakfast. But there had been a part of Martha even then who’d felt so righteous over her own self-important sacrifice. She guesses that’s the part of her that will grow into Eva.</p><p>Agnes sighs, giving up on getting any answer from her.</p><p>“Whatever it is…will I have the chance to say no?”</p><p>Martha is scared to think what Eva would order their son to do if Agnes doesn’t consent to their plans.</p><p>But she just shrugs, playing it cool. “You can do what you want.”</p><p>“What I want?” She snorts. “If I were a traveler, then I’d go back seven years and shoot my brother before he can take an axe to our father.” She pauses a moment to reflect. “Or I’d just travel to wherever he is now and shoot him there. Better yet, why don’t you use that little golden bauble to kill this new Führer before he starts his terrible war you say is coming?”</p><p>Martha shakes her head. “Some things are too big to erase. We have to keep things the same to ensure our own survival. And besides, there’s a man out there who’s a far worse threat to our world than the Führer. A man who’s a threat to our very existence.”</p><p>“Well, maybe we should go back in time and shoot him then?”</p><p>She swallows, tears filling her eyes. “I already did.”</p><p>Agnes’s eyes widen, but she doesn’t run away screaming through the trees. This is a girl who vowed to kill her own brother at age ten after all.</p><p>“But shooting him hasn’t changed things?” she asks.</p><p>“No. He found a loophole. Just like I did when he killed me.”</p><p>Agnes’s frown deepens. She finally looks a little unnerved. Martha won’t confuse her any further by explaining that they need to keep that other Jonas alive. That he is the father of all of them, the beginning and the end of the Nielson family line. Part of the loop as much as Eva. They need to preserve him to save themselves. That’s the endless game.</p><p>“You don’t have to decide anything right now,” says Martha. “I’ll come back and find you several years from now.”</p><p>“And…and what am I supposed to do until then?”</p><p>“Decide what you want out of life.”</p><p>She feels a sting of jealousy for this girl stood before her, this girl who still seemingly gets to have dreams. Martha lowers her stare, clutching her St Christopher in one hand and reaching for her sphere with the other.</p><p>“Life is a gift for those who know how to use it.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. The Vows</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thanks to all of you who left such lovely comments on part one! I really wasn't sure where I was going with this exploration of Martha's transition into Eva and the untold story of Agnes being recruited into the family tree. I hope you'll like the conclusions I came to in this second installment. And for anyone reading who hasn't seen Marlene Dietrich in her famous tuxedo be sure to search up the scene on youtube (especially if you're a fellow bisexual!) so you can appreciate the reference.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>14. February, 1934</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Martha drinks alone at a corner table in the <em>Chez ma belle Soeur</em> cabaret club, waiting for the final act to take the stage. The master of ceremonies describes the last singer of the night as the one they have all been waiting for. He doesn’t introduce her as Agnes Tauber, but rather by the stage name of Amy Jolly. Tonight, Agnes will be performing Marlene Dietrich’s famous tuxedo number from the film <em>Morocco</em>. Even here in the sizzling night dens of Berlin, Martha doesn’t think there are many young women who’d be bold enough to impersonate the most legendary German screen icon of the times. But as Agnes strolls into the spotlight in her top hat and tails, she looks ready to embrace the challenge.</p><p>The crowd hushes down as Agnes begins to sing. With one hand in her pocket and the other holding a cigarette, she commands the stage effortlessly. The song is an old French ballad called ‘When Love Dies’. Martha wishes she didn’t know the language well enough to translate the lyrics. The words sting like salt in her old wounds.</p><p>
  <em>A heavy heart, eyes filled with tears, when everything is finished</em><br/>
<em>When dying your beautiful dream, why mourn the bygone days.</em>
</p><p>This is Martha’s fifth Valentine’s day since she lost Jonas. No, since she <em>killed</em> Jonas. She must always remind herself that she’s both the girl who fired the bullet and the girl who wept over him as he bled out on the floor. Those two Marthas are still warring inside her. She has tried her best to forget the lovesick teenager she was. But listening to old torch songs like this one always draws her long-buried feelings back to the surface.</p><p>She closes her eyes and memories flare in her mind. The memory of being sat at Eva’s desk, her face still throbbing from the gash her older self had slashed down her cheek, her eyes staring numbly at the gun they had placed before her.</p><p>“You heard him.” Eva had reminded her. “The last thing he said was that he wanted to leave you. He would’ve abandoned you to the apocalypse and gone back to his impossible quest of trying to save his own world and his own Martha.”</p><p>Her still bleeding face hadn’t hurt half as much as what Eva was saying. Because yes, Martha remembered how Jonas didn’t kiss her in the morning after climbing out of her bed. How he couldn’t even look at her without a wince of regret. He had said it was wrong. That<em> they</em> were wrong. And how could he say that? When Martha had kissed him, it had felt righter than anything she’d ever experienced. It had felt perfect.</p><p>“You were never the Martha he loved,” Eva insisted, a consoling hand on her shoulder. “You were only ever a stand in. A body double. An understudy.”</p><p>Martha had swallowed against the sobs welling up in her throat. “Even if that’s true…he’s just a kid. A kid that’s been lied to. That’s been manipulated and fucked over so many times. Even if he didn’t love me…he still doesn’t deserve to die.”</p><p>“Neither did we,” said Eva. “But he killed us just the same.”</p><p>Martha had gritted her teeth, arguing long and hard with her two older selves. But her pleas for Jonas to be spared had fallen on deaf ears. Eva said that the boy knew too much. That they couldn’t risk him going back and telling Adam the secrets of their world. And it would be too much trouble trying to hold him prisoner, especially when Martha began to show, and Jonas realized what purpose he’d been dragged across dimensions to serve. He would have to be eliminated at some point. Best to get it over with before Martha became any more attached to him.</p><p>“This is how it has to happen,” they told her. “The way it’s always happened.”</p><p>Martha had felt like an actress trapped inside a tragic play, held hostage by her directors and forced to play out her part. In the end, she had followed their script. She’d put on the costume they brought for her and waited outside the door for her cue. She’d stepped into the room and spoken her line to the girl who she was only days before – “<em>I’m sorry.</em>”</p><p>Then she had pulled the trigger and watched Jonas fall.</p><p>Martha flinches at the memory of the gunshot, her eyes flying open and a small gasp escaping her lips. She struggles to shake it off and bring her focus back to the smoky barroom around her. Agnes is still singing her French ballad, only now she has stepped down from the stage and is moving through the clustered tables. It seems she has already spotted Martha’s face in the crowd, even though she’s dressed very differently to their last meeting. Tonight, Martha has worn a floor length black gown and curled her dark hair into ringlets. She’s lathered on face paint and powder to cover her scar. It’s not often that Eva allows her a night out on her own. When she does, Martha has to make the most of it.</p><p>Agnes lingers at her table. Little butterflies of desire flutter in Martha’s belly as the gorgeous suited singer takes a long drag on her cigarette. Then she reaches out a seductive finger, tucks it under Martha’s chin and tilts it up as she leans in to steal a kiss. The crowd give a titillated whoop and a smattering of claps. <em>Chez ma belle Soeur</em> is a favorite haunt of Berlin’s queer underbelly. It’s not only safe but hotly alluring to see two pretty young women kissing in this nightclub. While her audience are distracted, Agnes quickly moves her mouth to Martha’s ear and whispers “Wait for me at the stage door.” Then she pulls back and flicks the brim of her top hat with her fingers, just like Marlene Dietrich in the movie.</p><p>Martha watches until the song is finished and Agnes struts off stage to rapturous applause. Then she downs her gin and hurries for the exit. She waits in the shadows behind the club, waving off the advances of several interested men and women who pass her in the backstreet and offer to walk her home. A few more minutes pass before Agnes emerges dressed now in a black trench coat and beret. She takes Martha’s hand and leads her down Marburger Strasse to the boarding house where she rents a room. Agnes unlocks the door, lets Martha slip in behind her, then quickly fastens the bolt and chain again.</p><p>“I was wondering how much longer it would be before one of you travelers came to see me again,” says Agnes, shrugging the jacket from her shoulders.</p><p>Martha frowns. “Have…have others been to see you?”</p><p>Agnes nods. “I had a visit from Claudia a couple of years back. A very intelligent and persuasive woman, I must say. She gave me a better understanding of this time travel business. She told me a lot more about Doris too. She said Doris was her mother and that she never saw her truly happy before me and my son came to stay at their house.” She shakes her head. “So strange to think that what is past for her, is still yet to come for me.”</p><p>Martha wonders briefly which Claudia has been to see Agnes. She knows that Eva has recruited the Claudia Tiedemanns of both worlds to their cause but Martha still questions whether they should trust either version of her. Claudia always seems to have her own agenda. Or maybe Martha is just jealous that someone else has been meeting with Agnes while she has been forced to wait so long to see her again.</p><p>There’s a nervous flutter in her stomach once more as Martha reaches into her bag and brings out a wrapped rectangular box. She hands it over to Agnes.</p><p>“A Valentine’s gift…” she says. “…from the future.”</p><p>Agnes raises a curious brow. She takes her present over to her bed and flops down on the mattress to open it. She pulls out the box with the pink vibrator inside. Her eyes widen as she stares at the picture on the packaging and they grow wider still as she reads the instructions about what it can do. Martha giggles at her expression, sitting on the bed beside her.</p><p>“Want me to show you how it works?” she suggests, playfully.</p><p>Martha presses her lips to Agnes’s neck, but the Tauber girl winces and gently pushes her away.</p><p>“Later perhaps,” she says with a non-committal shrug. She places the vibrator on the bedside table and snorts a little laugh. “You know I can’t help thinking…if there are all these sex toys and sperm banks in the future, why do we need men anymore?”</p><p>“Right,” says Martha, trying to force a laugh of her own but failing. “So I take it that Claudia talked to you about…about your child? And your options for how he may be conceived?”</p><p>It was Claudia who had suggested artificial insemination as a way for Agnes to fulfil her role in the family tree. Since they had time travel at their disposal, she said they might as well use the method of forced pregnancy that would be least traumatic for Agnes to endure. Before Martha had been imagining some horrifying scene from <em>The Handmaids Tale</em> would have to play out between Agnes and her son. She had woken up sweating from nightmares about it and couldn’t imagine how they’d ever get Agnes on their side.</p><p>But now, Agnes is nodding and composed, taking it in her stride.</p><p>“I suppose if this is my fate…I must make the best of it.” She lights a cigarette and sighs as she exhales its smoke. “I couldn't make sense of it from your letter alone, but Claudia has made me accept what has to happen.”</p><p>Martha grimaces. Yes, good old Claudia. She thinks of everything. But where were her bright ideas when it had been Martha’s fate to fall in love, lose her virginity, fall pregnant and then be forced into shooting the father all within the space of a week?</p><p>Agnes clears her throat. “I take it that your…your son won’t be offended that I don’t wish to consummate our marriage and have a child with him the natural way? He understands that I just don’t feel any of those desires towards men?”</p><p>Martha shakes her head and refrains from saying that even if Agnes did like men, she probably still wouldn’t want any kind of sexual relations with her son.</p><p>“It’s fine. He doesn’t want to have a child with you that way either. He’s a pastor…of sorts. He’s chosen a life of celibacy, devoted himself to serving God.”</p><p>Martha trails off. What she’s said is true enough, she supposes, if you consider that ‘God’ according to <em>Erit Lux</em> is time itself and that a life of celibacy for her son meant spending all his time with an older and younger version of himself. Much like his mother.</p><p>“I still find it crazy that you have an adult son,” says Agnes. “A son who is already older than you.”</p><p>Martha shrugs. According to the year they were in presently she wouldn’t even be born for another seventy years. She’s used to the strangeness of it all these days. She reaches into her bag and takes out another gift-wrapped box.</p><p>“My son has a present for you too. He asked me to pass it on.”</p><p>Agnes looks a little squeamish as she peals back the paper and opens the leather jewellery box to reveal the silver bracelet of the snake wrapped round its own tail.</p><p>“It’s an ouroboros,” Martha explains. “A symbol of the endless cycle that you will be helping us to maintain. And because it was the snake who gave Eva the knowledge of good and evil. The snake who helped her see her world for what it truly was.”</p><p><em>Let there be light</em>, Martha thinks solemnly but does not say. Some days she wonders if she would have preferred being left in the dark, even if that meant never existing at all.</p><p>“I’ll ask you to return my thanks,” Agnes says stiffly, setting the bracelet down on the table too. “And you still won’t tell me my husband’s name?”</p><p>“He doesn’t have one. He never did. Eva said it was the best way to keep his identity a secret from Adam. So he never knows the origin of our family line.”</p><p>“He knows my name,” Agnes points out. “Should I be afraid?”</p><p>“Don’t worry. If Adam wanted to stop the cycle by killing a child before it’s born, it would be ours he killed.”</p><p>Agnes glances at her in fearful concern and Martha finds she has to look away. She doesn’t want her pity. She’s not the Martha who was destroyed with the seed still unborn inside her. She’s not the one that Agnes should feel sorry for.</p><p>“For the purpose of the marriage certificate,” Martha goes on. “My son will go by the name Tronte Nielson. The name that you will then give to your son.”</p><p>The beginning of her family name. Martha knows how over the next century it will pass from her son to her grandfather to her own father and then back to her again. Her little brother will continue their line by fathering Jonas before it circles around and they birth each other into being once more. A loop of paradox people who should never have existed.</p><p>Agnes just shakes her head. “Right. So I’ll take the name of my husband who I’ll never sleep with and give it to my son who’ll spend most of his childhood in foster homes.”</p><p>Her face tenses up with guilt and Martha takes hold of her hand.</p><p>“It’s what’s best for him,” she insists. “Keeping your son distant from you will mean that Tronte gets to live out most of his life not knowing about time travel.”</p><p>“Yes, that’s what Claudia told me. She said her and my son were close friends as children. That after me and her mother disappeared, and her father turned to the bottle, she and Tronte practically raised each other. It doesn’t sound so different to how I grew up after losing my own family.” She shudders. “I never wanted kids, you know.”</p><p>Martha nods. “Don’t think of it as being a mother. Think of yourself as a surrogate. Only you’re not just having a child for the benefit of one family. You’re having a child for the sake of all the Nielsons, the Dopplers, the Tiedemanns and the Kahnwalds who are caught up in this knot. By playing your part, you are keeping them all alive.”</p><p>“I suppose you can justify it that way.” She turns and looks Martha hard in the eye. “Is that what you tell yourself? Does it help you to sleep at night?”</p><p>Martha tenses. It’s been seven years since the apocalypse in her time. Since the day that her home was destroyed and her family wiped out. Since then Martha has slept every night in a four-poster bed in Eva’s bunker, in a room just down the hall from the main chamber where she murdered Jonas. She never sleeps well anymore. Nightmares and cold sweats wake her several times per night. And she always wakes up alone.</p><p>Martha holds Agnes’s stare now, leaning towards her lips. She’s desperate to taste love again. Not even love, just physical pleasure will do. Agnes can use her for sex tonight and then not kiss her the next morning. She doesn’t care. She just wants this now. She wants to be touched. But when she kisses Agnes, the other girl recoils like she’s been burned.</p><p>“I’m sorry,” Agnes murmurs. “I can’t do this. It would be wrong.”</p><p>Martha just swallows and nods. It’s not like she hasn’t been rejected with that word before. And yes, it would be wrong given that she's both Agnes's future mother in law and her great granddaughter. There's no arguing with that now Agnes knows how they all connect. Martha guesses she’ll always be wrong for love in one way or another. She’s damaged goods and she doesn’t deserve to be happy after what she’s done. Sometimes she thinks it’ll be easier when she becomes Eva. When her heart turns to stone.</p><p>Agnes looks away and stares at the newspaper clippings she has stuck to her walls. Articles about Hitler’s rise to power, the warning signs that war is looming, that the future they warned her about is coming true. She knows that Agnes will do anything to avoid living through another war. With their help she can skip the war years if she likes. Martha only wishes she could travel to a time when her life would be less painful too.</p><p>“I will see you at the wedding then,” she says tightly.</p><p>She releases Agnes’s hand and leaves her room.</p><p> </p><p>~*~</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>22. April, 1939</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Martha’s son marries Agnes in the spring before war breaks out in their country.</p><p>The ceremony is held in the church of St Christopher in Eva’s world, though the certificate will look identical to any that might be obtained from the same building that stands above Adam’s bunker. Her older self tells her they will even send one of their people to alter the church records of that other Winden. It seems to amuse Eva to leave these little breadcrumbs behind for Adam to find and follow. It’s like she’s still playing Ariadne all these years later, weaving a thread through a labyrinth of time, knotting it back and forth between dimensions. She knows that Adam will pick up her clues and catch up to her eventually, but Eva still seems to enjoy playing this game with him.</p><p>Martha sits on the first pew with Eva at her right and the youngest version of her son at her left. She still doesn’t see her child that often. Once she was done breast-feeding him, Martha was told that her middle-aged self would take over the mothering duties. They said this was the way that had always made the most sense. Martha had been a teenager when she had him and not ready for the responsibility, but by her late forties she would be pining for a child to raise. Martha had accepted the arrangement, like she’d accepted everything else only wishing that her older selves had thought to spare her from such burdens when they’d put a gun in her hands.</p><p>She swallows, wiping the sweat from her brow, trying to ward off a flashback. She needs to hold it together. She needs to get through this day, this next step towards victory in her life-long mission of keeping two worlds in existence. The organ begins to play, and Martha looks over her shoulder to see Agnes walking down the aisle with Bartosz’s arm linked through hers. This is the Bartosz from their world, of course. Agnes’s own father was murdered almost twenty years ago. But Agnes seems to appreciate the illusion of having her family here at her wedding. The Noah from their world is present too, acting as minister. Before the ceremony, Agnes told her it was interesting to see what her brother looked like older. She said she’d keep his aged face in mind for those times she imagined killing him.</p><p>They walk through the wedding like a play that nobody really wants to take part in. They are only putting on this performance for the benefit of the registrars. Agnes is the professional showgirl, speaking her vows clearly and keeping her smile fixed in place. It only falters when Martha’s son is instructed to kiss the bride. Their lips meet briefly in the cold space between them. Then they part again and lead a procession back down the aisle. Outside in the church yard, they save the last of their false happiness for the photographer.</p><p>“You’re the wrong age to be in the pictures,” Eva reminds her.</p><p>Martha nods and drifts away from the wedding party, feeling like she needs to find a tree and throw up behind it. Instead her feet carry her to the far right corner of the cemetery. There’s a rosebush that she’s planted here. A rosebush with yellow flowers, not red, that are in the full bloom of spring. Martha sinks to her knees on the dewy grass and reaches out to stroke one of the soft petals. Her fingers trail down the stem till she hits a thorn. She lets it slice into her soft skin then draws her hand back, watching that little droplet of blood trail into her palm.</p><p>“Our son got married today,” Martha whispers. “Two years from now his wife will have a son of her own. Then her son Tronte will have my father, Ulrich, who will have my brother, Mikkel. And then he will have you…and then the cycle begins again.”</p><p>Martha lets the blood drip from her hand onto the ground. This is the spot. The place where she and her two older selves buried their Jonas. They had traveled to Winden during World War One. It was a night when there were warnings of an air raid over the town, a false alarm as it turned out. But it kept people sheltered in their homes long enough, so nobody was around to notice the three women digging an unmarked grave for the boy they had killed. The boy who never even existed in their world, but his bones still lay beneath its soil.</p><p>Martha clasps her bloody hand around the St Christopher that hangs from her neck.</p><p>“I know I’ve not kept my promise to you,” she says, a tear slipping from her eye. “I’ve not made it right. All I’ve done is keep it going.” She lets out a sigh. “But at least that means I’ll see you again one day. What else do I have to look forward to?”</p><p>Martha remembers how all three versions of herself had been in tears after the burial. Even Eva had cried for Jonas. After all this time and after all she’s done, Martha can tell that she still misses him. She still clings to her own worn silver pendant.</p><p>“Maybe they’ll get it right next time?” she whispers to the yellow roses. “The next versions of you and me born into this new cycle.” She sniffs, smiling faintly. “Maybe they’ll be better when it comes to saving worlds than we ever were?”</p><p>She falls silent as a shadow drifts over the flowers.</p><p>Martha turns to see her ten year old son standing behind her, his eyes wide, his face utterly blank. She supposes that he's the wrong age for the wedding photos too. She wonders how long he’s been there, if he heard any of what she said, if he realizes who she was speaking to. If he did, then he doesn’t mention it. He doesn’t say anything at all. He just reaches out and takes Martha’s hand, not seeming to care that it’s covered in blood.</p><p>Without a word, her son leads her back to the church.</p><p> </p>
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